Things They Don't Tell You
by HedwigBlack
Summary: Kingsley soon discovers that there are things they don't tell you in basic Auror training. It's probably one purpose. For Quidditch League


For Quidditch League Round 10: The Auror Office. Prompts: Range, Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran, "I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me." S. E. Hinton, The Outsiders

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><p><em>Things they don't tell you in basic Auror training:<em>

**One: Dark Wizard Hunters Are Very Often Dark Wizards**

The first time you saw someone cursed into oblivion was the night you find out that paperwork is merely a formality. No one even reads that bullocks. It's thrown into a pile on the front desk to be filed, to collect dust, or to have coffee spilled on it.

No one cared. No one cared about the mess. No one cared about the splayed limbs and the chalk outline and the fake bullets strategically placed. One just below the collarbone, one straight through the lung, one to the thigh, all of them measured to make it convincing that the shooter was in a specific range. And when you and your senior Auror got back to the office, no one bothered to ask how your shift went or _was there any trouble, Kingsley_? or about the story Dawlish told the Muggle police or why he was described on all of their televisions as a key witness in a drive by shooting. Such a perfect story, such a beautifully executed lie. And you are expected to clap him on the back for it, for doing his job so well.

This. This was not the job description. This was not what they told you being an Auror was about.

**Two: Alastor Moody Is A Sick Son Of A Bitch.**

Make no mistake. Moody is the best and everyone knows it. He's a legend that looks like he was carved out of wood, and his tongue is full of splinters, and his laugh sounds as though he is choking on sawdust. He is fearless and foolish and well… mad.

He is electric blue eye staring through everything, to get through to the heart of the matter without any beating around the bush because, doesn't anyone see, he just doesn't have time for that? And how many times have you come into your cubicle with it sitting on your desk, casually eying your charts and your photographs and your maps? How many times has he left it around the office while he's "working on his paperwork"?

You see, he knows better than anyone else what it is to sleep with one eye open. He knows what happens when you let your guard down and who pays the price. You see, he is a disillusioned mad bastard and that makes a person do seemingly nonsensical things. And if it makes you uncomfortable, you should have stayed home.

Some days you think you really should have stayed home.

**Three: 2 AM Is A Lonely Time Of Night**

The night shift never daunted you before, but now, it is the threat of something sinister. It is when the darkness reigns over everything, casting shadows over misdeeds that won't be discovered until morning... or until someone comes home to a skull and a snake proudly poised to strike above their home.

The blackness of the night is a perfect canvas for this sickly green death note. They used to tell stories about nights like these. Said they were nothing more than a nightmare long forgotten. It's been years since the last time the office had to worry about getting _that_ sort of call, and yet here you are in a stranger's living room, a defeated family huddled against each other on the couch, and mediwizards cleaning up the evidence.

You ask the routine questions and patiently wait for the shaky replies, and your heart seems too fleshy and human and warm to be able to do this without it leaping outside of your chest.

And then you go back to the office, and you're met with inquiries and you respond with even more. You look your coworkers in the eyes, begging more experienced wizards to explain what has changed? Why are they doing this? What will you have to do?

No one wants to answer. They don't want to think about it.

**Four: Don't Underestimate The New Girl**

She's a hurricane of pink and purple and orange, causing a general uproar with her antics and you kind of like her. She's the sort of girl who is impossibly happy and naïve and you hope that she never loses that. A part of you hopes that she's young and beautiful forever and that she won't be a sunset that goes down too early, that she keeps her colors for her rainy days. You want to tell her about the rainy days, but you also don't want to bring her down so you keep your thoughts to yourself.

And maybe she's a bit clumsy, and she runs into the rubbish bin at least twice a day, and perhaps she ought to learn when to be quiet but living loudly is not something you were ever very good at and you envy her more than anything.

**Five: If You Don't Want The Truth To Bite You In The Arse, Don't Say Anything At All**

Red strings connect the dots on the far wall of your cubicle, and you are surrounded by Sirius Black's face. He laughs at your frustration, at the close lipped answers you give to your superiors. He glares manically at Cornelius Fudge as he walks by, bowler hat in hand.

Forging letters and answering questions and interrogating key witnesses and all for nothing as it turns out, but if anyone asks about your progress, your response is "Tibet" because Dumbledore said so. And that is all you say, and no one seems to mind. You keep to yourself, with your head down, your voice low. You finish your tasks and you go home with nothing to show for it just like you intended.

You pass an Unspeakable on the way out and it makes you wonder what it is they do. What horrors do they keep inside their throats? What atrocities do they commit that they are not even allowed to speak of?

You can only imagine.


End file.
